Helping Heal
by silverthorned
Summary: Spoilers: "The Gift" and "Family." Shortly after Buffy's funeral, Tara befriends Spike.


Title: Helping Heal  
Author: silverthorned  
Rating: G  
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, creator  
Category: Tara/Spike friendship, Spike/Buffy  
Summary: Tara pov. Spoilers: "The Gift" and "Family." Shortly  
after Buffy's funeral, Tara befriends Spike.  
Note: The poem by e. e. cummings is "a clown's smirk in the   
skull of a baboon."  
  
*  
  
I was terrified.  
  
I wondered why I even came here, without Willow, without any plan  
except to talk to him.  
  
That's really all I can do to understand him. When I try to read  
him, well, the funny thing about vampires is they're dead, you  
know? There's not much to read. Most vampires' auras are the faint  
blue and silver of death, with an uncontrolled suffusing of red,  
a frenzied mess of violence and lust for blood. Not pretty to  
look at.  
  
Spike's aura is different. It doesn't have the same chaos others  
have. It's focused, controlled, which seems contradictory, I know.  
On the surface, what others can see, he's brash and insensitive,  
arrogant and mouthy, but he's always in control.  
  
He's gotten under everyone's skin, including mine. Unlike the  
others, I'm not ashamed to say I owe him. We're not like them.  
We're both outsiders. I look in on the Scoobies world, but I'm  
not really part of it. I never will be, no matter if they have  
accepted me.  
  
He hung back that night, when my family tried to take me away,  
out of choice, I'm sure, but he was still there. If he hadn't  
been there, I would never have known who I really was.  
  
I started to watch him, his expressions and his aura wondering why  
he stayed with us. He claimed that he didn't care about us, but I   
knew he was lying. His aura would go black at times, indicating   
he was hiding something from us, always when he denied acting  
unselfishly.  
  
I didn't tell anyone. They wouldn't have believed me anyway.   
They considered him evil. They couldn't see what I saw.  
  
I don't remember much from when Glory sucked my brain, but some  
things stuck--slapping Willow, calling Giles a killer, tearing  
the cast off my wrist--but those things I want to forget.  
Eventually I will, but there is one thing I will never get out of  
my mind. After the battle, weakly clinging to Willow, I saw him,  
sobbing, blood coating his head.  
  
He was so broken.  
  
That's why I came here. I came to help.  
  
I knocked, softly, on the crypt door.  
  
No answer came, so I knocked again, a little more insistently.  
  
A slurred voice answered, "Go 'way."  
  
I asked, timidly, "Spike, can I come in?"  
  
There was a long silence, then the sound of unsteady footsteps.  
  
The door opened.  
  
He looked bad. His hair was all mussed, in, well, spikes, and  
his clothes were wrinkled, but it was more than that. His face  
was tight, drawn, so much pain etched in it tears came to my  
eyes.  
  
He stared at me a moment and then said, in a harsh voice, "Don't  
want your pity, Wicca. Go away."  
  
He turned his back to me and walked to his chair and sat down.  
  
I walked in and took a look around. My first thought, was that,  
for a crypt, it was really spacious. Somehow, though, it had the  
feel of someone's home, comfortable, maybe at least for him. It  
smelled strangely like sandalwood, with the dusty smell of cold  
stone underneath. Some of the candles must have been scented.  
  
I moved to stand in front of him. He didn't look at me.  
  
"Dawn is worried about you," I said.  
  
No response.  
  
"And so am I."  
  
He looked up at me, startled, then wariness veiled his face.  
  
"Why do you care?" He watched intently for my answer.  
  
"Do you see anyone else here?" I asked.  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"I care because no one else will come."  
  
He looked down at that, avoiding my eyes.  
  
I held up a brown paper bag, the top of it folded over and  
wrinkled.  
  
"I brought you some blood. Where can I put it?"  
  
He pointed, mutely, to a corner and I saw a very old fridge. I  
put the bag in there and when I turned around he was standing  
behind me.  
  
I shrieked, involuntarily. He winced and stepped back, holding a  
hand up defensively.  
  
I bit my lip and we stood in silence for a moment.  
  
He mumbled, "Didn't mean to frighten you."  
  
I stepped closer to him.  
  
"It's okay. I'm just not used to being alone with you."  
  
Confusion creased his face.  
  
He asked, "Why did you come alone?"  
  
"Do you really think they would have let me come see you? They  
blame you, you know."  
  
"I blame myself." It came out flat, but no less painful.  
  
I said softly, "I don't."  
  
His jaw tightened.  
  
"You should."  
  
"Why?"  
  
He motioned to the refrigerator behind us. "This is more than  
about food, isn't it? What exactly do you want?"  
  
"I want to listen."  
  
He stared at me in disbelief.  
  
I stared back in defiance, hoping my face showed that I was  
telling the truth.  
  
He shook his head and walked past me, to the door of the  
crypt. He opened it, and stood aside.  
  
"Go on," he said. "I'm not talking to you."  
  
I nodded, defeated.  
  
"All right, Spike. I'm coming back tomorrow night. I'll bring  
Dawn, so please, clean up a little."  
  
This will be harder than I thought.  
  
*  
  
He looked much better when Dawn and I came by the next night.  
His hair was slicked back, tight against his head, and the  
circles under his eyes were faded. His grief and regret hadn't  
though.  
  
Dawn moved to hug him and he stepped back. Her arms dropped  
awkwardly to her sides. She frowned and pointed at his hair.  
  
"Why did you do that? You know I like it better the other way."  
  
He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Didn't think you'd care, lil  
bit."  
  
She bit her lip and then said, "I do. A lot. You know that,  
right?"  
  
He stared at her for a moment, his face unreadable, then nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he said.  
  
Dawn said, "Tara said you looked like you hadn't eaten and that  
she brought you something."  
  
He flicked a look at me. He said, "Yeah. Right kind of her,  
too. It was your idea, wasn't it, pet?"  
  
She nodded. "Can't have you dying on us, you know."  
  
A sorrowful silence fell. Spike broke it by saying, "Listen,  
it's good of you to come by, both of you, but I really think....  
I'd like to be alone."  
  
Dawn looked disappointed.  
  
I said, "Okay." I walked to the door and said, "Come on, Dawn."  
  
She joined me at the door, but before we left she said, "Spike."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You're still welcome to come by. Willow and Tara won't mind."  
  
He looked at me.  
  
I nodded.  
  
He smiled, small, but a start.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
We left.  
  
*  
  
I wasn't lying when I told Spike that the others blamed him.  
However, the only person who made it really known, was of course,  
Xander.  
  
"You did what!" This exploded from him forcefully. I was  
expecting his anger and didn't flinch.  
  
"Took Dawn to see Spike."  
  
"After he failed to take care of her? What are you, a moron?"  
  
Willow interjected, "Hey!"  
  
He held up his hands. "Sorry. But have you forgotten he's a  
vampire?"  
  
I countered with, "No, but you seem to have forgotten he _helps_  
us."  
  
This quelled him long enough for Dawn to say quietly, "He would  
have stopped the demon. It wasn't his fault."  
  
"Fine. You can all think that. I just know it's going to take a  
lot more for him to get on my good side, if ever!"  
  
He stomped out of the shop. Anya followed him silently, shooting  
an apologetic glance back at us.  
  
Giles had kept quiet during this exchange.  
  
Now, he said, "Dawn?"  
  
She looked at him.  
  
"Do you trust him, Dawn?" He asked.  
  
"I do."  
  
He nodded and said, "Well, I can't deny that we need him.  
Without, um, well, he has the strength we need. So, Tara, you  
and Willow, convince him to patrol with us."  
  
I nodded and Willow said, "Okay."  
  
*  
  
His leather duster flew behind him as he delivered a punch to the  
fledgling's chin. The vampire staggered back, into the waiting  
stake held by Giles. He was the last one of five.  
  
As soon as they both saw that the vamp was gone, they hurried  
over to us. Willow was in my lap, bleeding from her head.  
She'd been tossed against one of the headstones and was  
unconscious. I'd been trying desperately to wake her for the  
last few minutes.  
  
"Is she all right?" Giles asked.  
  
I met Spike's eyes, noting the stunned look. I looked at Giles,  
saying, "I can't wake her. We need to get to a hospital."  
  
It was too long of a ride. Her eyes wouldn't open, no matter  
what we did. I held her in my arms, trying not to cry. Spike  
had put a hand on my shoulder and it didn't move until we reached  
the hospital. Its gentle touch calmed me.  
  
The orderlies took her away, and I crumpled into his shoulder.  
He held me while I sobbed.  
  
When my sobs eased he led me to a chair, and sat beside me, his  
hand on my back.  
  
Giles had been giving information to the nurses. Finished, he  
came over to us and said, "I'm going to call Anya and Xander, so  
they can tell Dawn what's happened. Tara, there's no need to  
worry. The doctor thinks it might be a concussion, nothing  
more."  
  
He went to make the call.  
  
Spike said, "She can't die."  
  
I looked at him. He had tears in his eyes.  
  
I said, "She won't die."  
  
He said, "She'll be fine."  
  
I held his gaze. "Yes. Thanks to you."  
  
*  
  
I knocked on the door.  
  
He called, "Come in, Tara."  
  
I opened the door and peered around it. He was sitting, reading  
a small book.  
  
I closed the door. He looked up and asked, "How is she?"  
  
I smiled, weakly. "She's a lot better. She's awake now."  
  
"Glad to hear it."  
  
"Thank you for being there. Without you--I don't want to think  
about what might have happened if you hadn't been there."  
  
"I could have done more."  
  
"Y-you shouldn't think that way."  
  
"But it's true, isn't?"  
  
"Spike, you have to stop blaming yourself for Buffy's death!" I  
didn't mean for it to come out so harshly and regretted it when I  
saw his reaction.  
  
His eyes closed, and his head bent down. The book slipped from  
his hand and fell, crushing the pages. His mouth twisted and he  
started to weep. I felt like I'd killed a defenseless creature.  
I moved quickly to his side.  
  
"Oh, Spike, I'm sorry. Don't cry, please."  
  
He reached out, almost blindly, and clung to me, wrapping his  
arms around my middle and resting his head on my stomach. I  
placed a hand on his head and let my own tears flow.  
  
Our grief gave way to silence and eventually he let go. I moved  
away and he reached down to pick up the book. He smoothed the  
pages, avoiding my eyes, and I knew he was trying to regain  
composure. He placed it on the side table, paused, and then  
turned back to me.  
  
His heart wasn't in it when he said, "Hope you don't think this  
makes me any less of a vamp."  
  
"No, you're still scary."  
  
He looked as if he didn't believe me, but I still had a little  
fear of him.  
  
"Thanks, pet. And...thank you for--"  
  
"Of course. What's a friend for?"  
  
I'd never seen his face so unguarded, and what I saw was so  
beautiful and so raw I never wanted to look away. Too quickly,  
it was gone behind an emotionless mask, and I was left with a  
sense of loss.  
  
He said, "Maybe you should go. Wouldn't want to see me cry  
twice, would you?"  
  
"I could--" I stopped, seeing the mute plea in his eyes.  
  
I nodded.  
  
"I'll go."  
  
I was at the door, when he asked, "You'll come back?"  
  
I smiled at him. "Of course."  
  
*  
  
I came back, a few nights later. I knocked, but there was no  
answer. I knocked again, still no answer.  
  
Worried, I pushed the door open and called, "Spike?"  
  
Silence.  
  
I couldn't see him in there, so I walked in, tentatively. I  
stopped at the chair, and looked at the two books there. Poetry.  
Robert Browning's Paracelsus and e. e. cummings' ViVa.  
  
"See anything you like?"  
  
Startled, I nearly dropped the book.  
  
He stood at the doorway, a much-missed smile on his face. He  
held a brown paper sack.  
  
"I didn't know you liked poetry."  
  
He walked to the fridge and started to put things away.  
  
His back was to me when he said, "Yeah, well, there's a lot you  
don't know about me."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like, I used to write the stuff, myself."  
  
"Really? Any good?"  
  
He faced me. "Bloody awful, to hear tell."  
  
There was a hint of pain there. I'd have to ask him about that  
later.  
  
I was still holding the book. I asked, "Can I look?"  
  
He shrugged.  
  
I sat down in the chair. The book opened easily to one spot, and  
I saw that this particular poem had been read a few times. My  
eye fell on an underlined portion.  
  
i am a birdcage without any bird,  
a collar looking for a dog,a kiss  
without lips;a prayer lacking any knees  
but something beats within my shirt to prove  
he is undead who,living,noone is.  
I have never loved you dear as now i love.  
Hell(by most humble me which shall increase)  
open thy fire! for i have had some bliss  
of one small lady upon earth above;  
to whom i cry,remembering her face,  
i have never loved you dear as now i love  
  
I looked up at him, to see him watching me.  
  
I asked, "Was this what you were reading a few nights ago?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You really loved her, didn't you?"  
  
"More than she'll ever know."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
He said, "It should have been me. I should have died. It's not  
much of a life, without her."  
  
I stood, and put the book back. "There would have been people to  
miss you." I moved closer to him, to stand in front of him.  
  
"You."  
  
"And Dawn."  
  
He touched my cheek with a black tipped finger. He smiled wryly.  
  
"My only friends. Only reason to live."  
  
"The others will accept you, in time. They'll see what I have.  
You've changed."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
I watched his aura turn to black and smiled.  
  
End. 


End file.
